


how many tomorrows can you see?

by schlannie (mthslh)



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Minecraft IRL, Night Terrors, Not much tho, Sharing a Bed, Sleeptalking, all those good tropes, and not graphic, george cant say “i love u”, i dont remember what the tag is called lol, lowkey fluffy, minecraft but it’s real, tw scars, tw violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:14:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27292522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mthslh/pseuds/schlannie
Summary: dream is hurt, and suddenly, george sees the phantoms when he goes to sleep at night.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 269





	how many tomorrows can you see?

**Author's Note:**

> Obligatory RPF disclaimer: dldr, I’ll remove this if it ends up being problematic.  
> (Sorry if you’re one of the ~100 who saw this when it was first uploaded! it showed up as being the day i drafted it, not the day it posted- it got buried. oops!)

The phantoms have descended upon George, not bit by bit, not one piece at a time, but in one fell swoop, knocking the two of them off their rhythms.

Just Dream’s luck, of course, he can’t see them. They are real, to be fair, as real as real can be, but they aren’t corporeal. They aren’t exactly the phantoms of myth, either, although George does describe them as “horrid winged beasts” when he wakes up. They live inside him, the nearest cleric had patiently explained, and there was no surefire method of eviction.

George had always been a sleep-talker. He had nightmares frequently enough, bolting upright in the dead of night and peering around for monsters, but this is not that.

The first time it happened, Dream remembers, was when they returned from their first Nether trip. Three days they’d trudged along in the barren hellscape before coming upon the fortress. They defeated huge purring specters and swirling fiery fiends before piecing together a shimmering portal, and then—

Dream threw his arms out, bashing a hulking mass of rotting pig flesh straight in the collarbone.

As if in slow motion, he watched George’s laughing face fall into terror. 

He had tossed his flint and steel at George, drawing his sword. George stepped forward before thinking better of it, instead running back to their teetering assembly of stones on the ground.

As Dream slashed and stabbed, George’s shaking hands struggled to bash the two fading pieces of rock together to light sparks. Finally, he got the portal working, the whirling gloss of the film between two worlds lighting up at once with the fire. He ran and dragged Dream in, throwing him through, and then— 

Dream came to in a dark, dry cave, George bandaging his abdomen. He reached up to touch George’s cheek, eliciting a strangled gasp, breathing in and out as gently as possible, trying not to damage himself further.

When they were finished, when Dream had let himself be tucked into the makeshift cot and had cool water poured into his mouth, George flopped on the stone next to him with a thin blanket, exhausted.

Looking back, Dream knows he shouldn’t have let George sleep on the ground, tired and weak and afraid, but he was exhausted and hadn’t had anything to numb the pain. Instead, he and George both drifted into sleep the second their eyes closed.

It was near dawn, judging by the deep purple sky, and Dream was shocked awake by a screaming right next to him. It was George, clawing at the blankets and pleading with his own imagination, no, please, don’t take him, not him, tears streaming down his face. Dream had clutched George’s hands until he stopped clawing at his surroundings and woke up in a daze.

Since then, they hadn’t stopped. A couple times a week, they both awoke in the dead of night in sheer terror, Dream afraid for George’s safety and George afraid for their lives.

They’d tried everything, despite George’s insistence that he was okay. In every village they visited they found a holy man to pray over them or a cloaked figure to slip George a sleeping draught so he could have a night of guaranteed peace. Now, the two of them are simply clinging onto a thread of hope that the phantoms will pick up and leave from whence they came.

They aren’t able to go places, not anymore. A foray back into the Nether is out of the question. Dream swings his pickaxe, coughing up filthy black dust when he emerges from the mines with a few glimmering stones, and George, practically dead on his feet, fells trees or slaughters livestock or barters with locals.

And then, all of a sudden, Dream takes a tumble in the mine.

He’s fine. Really, he is. He needs a day or two off for his scraped-raw hands to heal, but he was wearing armor, so not even his knees are skidded.

George frets for the rest of the day, though, fussing over Dream’s hands, and when it’s time for bed he resolves to keep his eyes open.

Alas, both of them are fast asleep by an hour past sundown. When the moon hits the middle of the sky, George screams.

“Oh, God, not him, don’t take him, take me, please, God...” His voice is hoarse from all the screaming and tears are pouring down his face.

Dream jolts up and shakes George back into the real world, ripping him from his nightmare. “George, I don’t know if it’s me you’re talking about, but I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

George looks up at him with those big brown eyes and then, all of a sudden, buries his face in Dream’s chest, sobbing.

”Easy, easy,” Dream hushes, holding George in his arms. They’re up north in the taiga, and George’s warmth is welcome, a radiant heat seeping from his skin like sunshine.

When George’s body is no longer wracked with sobs, he pulls back once more. “I can’t... live like this.”

”Like what?”

”I can’t treat you like... like an egg, or something. You’re not going to break when you get hurt, but...” He pauses, turning his thoughts over in his head. “I can’t just not worry. I would if I could.”

Dream’s heart breaks at that, at how much George cares, how much George loves him. “Maybe... maybe if I stay here tonight, your brain will know you’re not going to lose me.” His face heats up at the suggestion, and he hopes he’s not blushing.

George breathes out softly. “You’re sure? What if I get another terror and scratch you up, or something?”

But Dream is already settling into George’s cot, and without another word, George wraps his thin arms around him tightly and they both fall fast asleep.

The next day goes surprisingly well. George is awake and alert enough to pack up and start moving back southwest, and Dream’s hands get their break from the blistering weight of the pickaxe. They laugh and joke as they trek, Dream’s arm lingering across George’s back.

(George doesn’t really seem to mind, anyway, leaning into the touch like a moth to light.)

And that night, in a cave, George wordlessly only sets up one cot, and then looks up at Dream with big, expectant eyes.

Dream climbs in without a moment of hesitation, snaking his arms around George’s body. George clutches at the fabric of Dream’s tunic, and then, not satisfied, rucks Dream’s shirt up to touch his skin. Dream gasps when George’s hand ghosts across the scar up his side from the pigman.

”George...”

”Does it hurt? I’m sorry,” he whispers, pulling his hands off.

”No, it’s good, I’m just... I’m sorry.”

”For what?”

”I love you, George.” He’s half-asleep and hardly registers what he’s saying.

George’s eyes snap up to his own, and then, slow and sweet like honey, he presses his lips to Dream’s. It’s a gentle question, a test of the waters, and Dream is more than glad to kiss him back.

And just like that, they’re out. George’s hands on Dream’s chest, Dream’s arms across George’s body, anchoring the two of them together, and they sleep soundly.

The phantoms have picked up and deserted George in search of greener pastures. He recovers the lack of sleep well, and Dream seems to heal quicker with the other man by his side. Days pass without so much as a nightmare, and finally, the two of them are back on track and happy once more.

**Author's Note:**

> I must admit, I’m not exactly an expert on Dream or George. I’m new to the fandom, and I likely won’t stay long, but I just had to write this. Thankfully, the “characters” don’t have to exactly match their real-world counterparts! I love the idea of phantoms being more like sleep paralysis apparitions than real monsters.
> 
> I always appreciate comments— don’t be shy!  
> (Title from Sit With the Guru by Strawberry Alarm Clock.)


End file.
